


i can tell you will always be a danger

by catteo



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, Masturbation, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-10
Updated: 2015-05-10
Packaged: 2018-03-29 23:56:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3915496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catteo/pseuds/catteo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Early season 1.</p><p>Ward jerks off and thinks about Skye. </p><p>That's honestly it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i can tell you will always be a danger

**Author's Note:**

> This is what happens when people ask me what Ward fantasizes about when he thinks about Skye.
> 
> Like anyone's surprised.

The first time that Ward thinks about Skye it’s almost an accident.

 

It's three weeks after their first meeting. To the day. Twenty-one days of disconcerting honesty and challenging stares. Ward barely even knows who she is, other than a significant complication. He's lying in his bunk thinking about some blonde that he slept with for a mission months ago, a vague memory of long legs and a pert ass. He can’t really remember her face. He’s slowly sliding his hand along his dick, only half hard, taking his time.

 

And then he hears Skye's laugh drifting down the hallway, drifting across his body and settling on his skin. He doesn't mean it to happen, but the blonde slowly morphs into a brunette. She’s got dark eyes, full of humor, and lips that are barely holding back a grin. He doesn’t bother fighting it, just accepts the fact that Skye’s invading his fantasies now. He grips his dick a little more firmly as her expression changes, familiar features settling into the manner that Skye always looks at him, cocky smile and one eyebrow raised. She’s all challenge and sass and nothing he knows how to deal with.

 

But she's fully clothed. So it's not as though the situation is irretrievable. He can stop thinking about her. He can. The only real problem is that the Skye in his head starts walking towards him, one hand running through the dark waves of her hair, and he can almost feel the heat of her body pushed up against him. The way that her curves feel under his fingers when he shifts her hips, so that she won't be off balance, when they train. And he can smell her. Skye. Vanilla and spiced caramel. Intoxicating.

 

He knows how her hands would map his body, imagines that he can feel them, small but sure against his skin. He feels as though he's burning up, a fire building in his gut, and he shouldn't be doing this. He shouldn't be twisting his hand around his now throbbing dick and thinking about Skye's hands doing the same.

 

Ward remembers the way that she looked the first day they met, the way she taunted him. The way he couldn't stop staring at her tits. He vividly recalls having to clench his hands into fists to focus, tiny half-moons on his palms that he could still feel hours later. In his head though, he's doing exactly what he wanted to do back then. He’s reaching for her.

 

She's wearing one of those plaid shirts she loves and it's _his_ fingers slowly popping the buttons. Skye doesn't take her eyes off him. He gets as far as undoing the shirt, Skye letting it slip slowly off her shoulders and onto the floor. The pressure at the head of his dick's almost unbearable and then he hears Skye's voice calling his name.

 

He doesn't whisper _her_ name when he comes. He absolutely doesn't. By the time he opens the door four minutes later he's got his SO face firmly in place. But she's wearing the exact fucking shirt that he just took off her in his head and his brain informs him in no uncertain terms that this is a terrible fucking idea. He wonders whether her bra is actually black lace. Then he focuses.

 

This is a mission.

 

He's not an amateur.

 

+

  
  
It's the same thing Ward tells himself the next three times that it happens.

 

The three times when he starts thinking about her before he even manages to get his pants off, his dick already uncomfortably hard as he drags his palm along the length of it. It's almost a relief when he collapses onto his bunk, imagining that it's Skye pushing him onto the bed. Skye slowly peeling her jeans down her legs and staring him right in the eyes as she slips her panties down after them.

 

It's enough for him to think about her standing there, watching him. Asking him to show her how he wants her to touch him. If he wants her to scratch her fingernails down his chest and mark him as hers. Enough to picture her, dark eyes staring at his dick as he jerks himself off for her, reaching for him and slipping two fingers into his mouth after he gasps her name, then watching as she kneels on the bed next to him, sliding those same two fingers up inside herself, her fingers still wet from his tongue.

He doesn't touch her, no matter how badly he wants to. He just watches her fingers dipping inside slick, pink folds, sees the way that her eyes slide closed and her teeth bite down on her lower lip as she gets closer to getting herself off. He imagines her holding her hand out to him, letting him lick the taste of her cunt off her fingers. He comes so hard that he sees stars.

  
  
He spends an hour making his knuckles bloody on the punching bag. He can barely look at her when she arrives, on time for once, to start training.

 

He can still remember how she tasted.

 

+

  
  
And then it gets worse.

 

It's as though the harder he tries not to think about Skye, the more impossible it is for him to remember what anyone else looks like. Sometimes she's wearing a dress. She doesn't even bother taking it off, just grins at him as she informs him that she didn't bother with underwear. Those are the nights that leave him aching, when his hand is the hot, wet heat of her sliding down onto him. Her face seems to be tattooed on the inside of his eyelids, and she has one hand on his stomach, the other on her clit and he leaves bruises on her hips from his fingers as she fucks herself on his dick. He can see the fine strands of hair that cling to her neck, curling across her shoulders, sticking to the sweat that he knows would taste like salt and Skye on his tongue. Those nights he comes hard and fast, clenching his jaw and swallowing her name.

 

Sometimes she's wearing training gear and she just slips out of her pants, slides up the length of his body, her cunt hot and her grin making his heart skip a beat, and lets him eat her out, one of his hands spreading her open so that he can dip his tongue into her, whilst his thumb circles her clit, his other hand slowly pumping his dick. He takes his time, imagines her moaning his name. Imagines the way that her hands would fist in his hair, fingers tight against his scalp as she grinds her hips down onto his face.

 

He turns up to training the next morning with dark circles under his eyes and stubble shadowing his cheeks. He jerks his head away as Skye runs a finger across his cheek, rolls her eyes, and tells him he looks good when he's not trying to be the perfect soldier.

 

+

  
  
That night's the first time Ward lets himself think about Skye giving him orders. Skye telling him that he's not allowed to touch himself. Or her. Skye leaning over him, the toned planes of her stomach level with his mouth as she ties his wrists to the bed frame. Skye slowly unbuttoning his jeans and pulling them off him, her hands sliding across his hips, and her breath hot on his thigh. Skye's mouth grinning up at him, tongue caught between her teeth, before biting down hard on his hipbone, a sharp jolt of pain offset by the aching surge of delight in his chest as she brands him. Skye's lips and tongue dragging white hot heat along the length of his dick before swallowing him down, his dick hitting the back of her throat and the way that he'd try not to come apart then and there as she hums her satisfaction.

 

He imagines her hand cupping his balls as the other grips the base of his dick and she pulls her lips off him with a loud pop. He knows exactly how it would sound, Skye's voice giggling around his name, ordering him to keep his hips still. Knows how hard it would be not to fuck up into her mouth. Knows how delighted she'd be when he managed it. Can hear the exact cadence of her voice, the shiver of anticipation that skates up his spine as she calls him a good soldier. Her obedient little soldier. He's never wanted anything more in his whole fucking life. He's pretty sure that he groans her name when he comes.

 

He doesn't even care any more.

  
  
The next morning Ward can't even face training. He suggests board games instead, almost ashamed of himself. Skye smiles up at him, utterly delighted at her sudden reprieve. He stores it away, the dancing eyes and the way her mouth forms an exaggerated expression of surprise.

 

And then she says it.

 

"Grant Ward, my _hero_."  


  
It’s everything he’s ever wanted.

 

He's totally fucked.


End file.
